John Pursch

Nanosecond Windscream

Angling for base spar carpool tunnels,
Amelia turns a foolish toad into an
ambling moment of silencer peril,
perking up at the mired typographical
wince of architectonically churlish
smudges of lobotic interpolation,
living in squandered splendor
and turbid Napoleonic sludge
of chinned Fizzies,
gifted from index finks with
barely pale salad torch remainders,
hinting at rhythmic enterprise solution
knocks of goner grasp infusion tights,
spilling false millstone silk down bushy
punter excuse machinery in shamed delight,
blustering in sidereal mention of
broadly cursed hypothetical starers.

Swiping sweet motion from
words of swaddling coin loss,
she muffled her childhood
crayon canyon crises with
sumptuously stubbly bulk
snare cot pollution drift,
stifling grifter solos and
blue bucolic listening
recipes for madness tarts,
choppy mordant handles
of a hasp named Fume,
and satiated taps of
ginger button miscellany,
held floppily till doomsday.

“Snuff hovers now about me
flavors of idle marching,
sordid coverage plover halls,
and timbrel sage refrains,
sold against an atrial quibble
over tin humidity’s crop pin
jiggling mittens,”
she sputters into spayed dice,
sloped to crepuscular trolling pinions.

“Scroll, mined hound stark hitting
direly scraping tritium mules
of callow fallow heroes,
heuristic snot switch handling
pedaled undercarriages town
mummified laps of Laudanum’s
bubbliest trivia sidings,
thrown from redwood foragers
by central fungi and murky dawdlers.”

Here Amelia trusted
her handy episodic joints
to puttering eyelid ottomans,
cresting feet-first in slaking
breakpoint time delays of
peeling plastic bull bottoms,
nodding offal into hips
of shy rotation,
coming sullied fracas
to arrested drum shoals.

“Clamoring fur slanting,
skulking drowned antsy alleyway
so veiled and ably umpired, sloucher,”
she called in expert boardroom tonnage,
sure to praise a channeler twice.

“Calmly in,
Shimmying Head Hiding Brood,”
an automated tourist answered
in smeared nanoseconds
of suctioned dimes,
stropping up androidal
parrying pelts for her
shapely survival.

“Codger datum,” Amelia relied,
humming canned assonance
in cloying leers down fiduciary
streams of vivid kneecap plunks.

Slipping through tensile overload,
frosting present into fast to forward
inverse alligator clasps,
she knocked the sparse articulation
frenzy clean from humbled posh
erector glands to pillbox sequence
daring hair to ventral séance
quiz cat snow, glossing skyline
mini organism into manned
emission parity.

Perspiration scrolls
through cheeky cinder spies,
floods her highs with cheapened
sloe chin zippers, and isolates
a ziggurat on smoldering poltroon
extremities of We Ate Mom blast facts,
filmed in thimble fodder consecration
by salivating ownership’s
spritely gilled hangman,
the cheery mannequin
of bareback ordinal excretion policy,
smelling of notional artistry,
vocational blurs, and eagle schisms.

Amelia’s knees ached
just a trivial remount,
past whose Yule tidal
supple simulation hat
come to expectorate
had tease point
indie pro seedings,
sneering at the laundry
son reproach.

Definitely innie alley
known Sno-Cone yearning balk,
she plunged the crudely fissioned
putter floorboard:
“Sallied coop hint asway
par floral chorus!”

“Tonsure, keyed floppy,”
amazingly sane flower crabbed
her vapidly revolving vase,
guiding the transport
handy approach slattern,
bingeing ship unto steepled
crew sand savory millions
aboard to fueled realignment
weed temporal adjudication,
abruptly perspectival in
Tased Against fleet cacophony.

Blended toons toyed
with clovered insignificance,
blushed at pontoon radiation,
and snuck to coffer
pedigree emotion fumes,
tossed to chary filial hoops
of tightrope cartwheels in
spindly kegger sniffing faucets.

Wisely claimed, she lathered
loudly garnered hubcap plumes
in gladly chambered
disembarkment burkas,
chiding in a lovely tome
to seething crowns
of waste pocket casuistry,
flexing under multiple moans.

“Wad pardon nose
donut Hoosier enter stance?”
she cackled into bleary smiles,
grimly dins, mastiffs jesting
in appropriate suffusion.

Swan pie gone day wheeled
dumb shelves dandy incline,
soiling testy nude planet hairy
ads with spherules of sand
salient atypical crustacean comet.

Wired dunes slipped
behind curtseying chimneys,
gaveling sway due hired underlings,
swapping birds with empty sighs
in liner moat iota rituals
of preened arrival.

Fusion cauterized slowly
locomotive fronds of sidewalk creep,
flashing now to supersonic hubs
in terraced landslide’s ordinary
tornado of shuffled windscream.

Amelia tipped obituary slaves
in portal recompense for plaster
cruft porridge bulk retrieval system,
cloned habitually to freed eternal numbness.

John Pursch lives in Tucson, Arizona. His work has been nominated for Best of the Net and has appeared in many literary journals. A collection of his poetry, Intunesia, is available at http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/whiteskybooks. His pi-related experimental lit-rap video is at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l33aUs7obVc. He’s @johnpursch on Twitter and john.pursch on Facebook.
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